


Protection

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-12-14 01:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: An evening full of alcohol and stupid teenage drinking games + a picture of the world's number one Andy Murray snogging Rafael Nadal turns the lives of the two tennis players upside down.Because all Andy wanted to do was to protect Rafa, wasn't he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of this fanfiction.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

"Rafa, please", Andy said while sitting on the other side of the table in a heavy leathery armchair, right across from the Spaniard with Rafa's uncle and the closest members of Andy's team.  
"I not think I can do, Andy", Rafa replied quietly, his eyes fixed on a point behind the Scot.  
"And I can't do this alone. Rafa, I don't think we have a choice here..."  
The Spaniard let out a snort at that but it sounded rather defeated than angry and Andy sensed his chance.  
"I know that this is not what you want. It's not what I want but it's only for a few weeks, a month, maybe."  
Eventually, Rafa lifted his gaze and was looking at the Scot with his dark, unreadable eyes, "They want us to play fake relationship, Andy. They want acting like we're in love, no? I not can pretend, not with press or friends."  
Andy understood it all so well, had the exact same concerns but then again, this was the only way out. Especially for Rafa.  
" _I_ am asking you to do this, Rafa. And you don't have to pretend around your friends. It's just for the public."  
"But you want to pretend with other players, no? They are friends, no?"  
Andy nodded slowly, "Yes, they are our friends, Rafa. And Nole and Roger will know it's fake anyway, right? They were there after all, remember?"

  
Andy knew that Rafa was thinking of the evening three days ago, now.  
He could see it in the way the Spaniard was flinching, his fingers nervously tabbing against the table.  
Looking back, it had been so stupid that this whole thing right now seemed unbelievably ridiculous.  
They had been to a bar with Roger, Novak, Stan and a few other players, celebrating a birthday, and they had ended up playing drinking games from the days when they had all first met each other.  
After a few rounds of spin the bottle, Roger had eventually dared Andy to kiss Rafa and with the amount of alcohol, none of them had found the nerve to care about the fact that while they were in a extraordinarily expensive bar, it was still public.  
But the saddest thing was that Andy didn't even remember the kiss now, all he had was this stupid picture that had flooded social media for days now.  
He had cursed the high quality of phone cameras several times, given that the picture even showed the pink tip of Rafa's tongue running over Andy's bottom lip.  
Hell, one would probably even be able to count each and every of the Spaniard's dark lashes resting on his cheekbones.  
The picture undeniably, definitely, showed Rafael Nadal and Andy Murray, the world's best players, making out in a bar in Paris and the headlines hadn't stopped yet.  
The Daily Mail had started it with a "TENNIS STARS MURRAY AND NADAL IN A SECRET AFFAIR?", followed by several other magazines with stuff like "NADAL AND MURRAY OUTET BY FAN", "WOULD RAFAEL NADAL RATHER WIN MURRAY'S NUMBER THAN WIMBLEDON" or "HAVE THE WORLD'S NUMBER ONES FOOLED EVERYONE?".  
But these hadn't been the worst, though.

  
"Rafa... Toni is right, this might be your best chance. The press has been suspicious about you and Roger before and..."  
"Roger is my friend! I not have-..."  
Andy interrupted the Spaniard, "I know that, Rafa. Of course he is. But the press has given you the role of the gay sports star that sleeps with different men each night and if we say that we're in a relationship, we could end this."  
Rafa's hands were basically trembling by now when he eventually answered, "I not care what the press say. I'm not gay but I talk to woman, press say she's my girlfriend. I talk to man, they say he is my affair. It is what it is, no?"  
"Rafa...", Andy's voice went soft and he shot a desperate glance at the Spaniard's uncle, "I don't care about the press either. But I'm so tired of it. I just want to go back to playing tennis again. I hate those rumors about you and if we would do this, not even for long, they will lose interest."  
"They call me slut, no?", Rafa's voice was so desperate now and it almost broke Andy's heart, having to see him like that.  
But all he could do was nod, "It's not fair, Rafa, I know that. I have kissed Roger and Nole too, that evening and it was all for a stupid game. We were drunk. And still, they go after you because you're so nice to everyone and they have too many pictures of that. We can end this, Rafa..."  
Andy knew that he had convinced the Spaniard when he let out a deep sigh, "How we do this?"

Five hours later, it was already dark and heavy drops were filling London's streets.  
Both Rafa's and Andy's teams had agreed on a short statement their managements would publish and by now, it was all over the internet, filling social media and online magazines.  
Hell, Andy thought, it had even been on the BBC news.  
" _After several days of 'no comments' from Rafael Nadal and the world's number one Andy Murray, the two tennis players have apparently decided to break the silence. Their managements have published a statement which reads 'Rafael Nadal and Andy Murray are in an intimate relationship and have been so for a period of time. Given that Wimbledon and other important tournaments are coming up, we understand the public interest in their relationship but hope for a general understanding that they will not comment on the issue further to focus on their play'.  
While there have been rumors that Rafael Nadal being gay is common knowledge in the locker room - and not to forget those about an affair with tennis star Roger Federer - it may have come as a bit of a shock for all Andy Murray fans, especially the ladies_."

  
Andy had grabbed the remote to switch off the TV as fast as possible at that, shaking his head slowly.  
So the world now thought he was gay - or bi, for the matter - so what?  
He had thought about calling Kim, to make sure that she knew he had actually been in love with her, deeply, but in the end he didn't and simply counted on her common sense.  
Andy had never really thought about his sexuality before. Not until it was on national TV, on international TV, even.  
He found himself to care less about being labeled as a man that loved men than he had thought - which was a little strange since he had never even kissed a guy before (well, except Rafa of course).  
But in the end, it didn't really count anyway.  
He just wanted this terror to be over, especially for the Spaniard.  
And if this was what it took to achieve that, so be it.

 

It had been Rafa's idea which had been a surprise for Andy.  
"It should looking real, no?", Rafa had said when he had called Andy on his phone, "We eat together, they take few pictures and press is happy, si?"  
Andy had not responded immediately, instead he had rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, "If this is what you want, Rafa..."  
"Of course I not want. But is okay, Andy. I like eating with you and we are friends, no?"  
So Andy had texted Rafa the address of his favourite restaurant, one where the press was rarely to be seen and where the media would probably only get a blurry shot taken by a fan.  
But this was okay for the beginning, Andy thought.

Rafa had rented a car and was picking Andy up at his flat.  
The Scot had decided against an umbrella for the short way from his door into the car and regretted it immediately when he stepped foot out of the house.  
It was raining cats and dogs by now and his hair was soaked when he opened the backdoor of the dark Mercedes and climbed in.  
There was no light inside the car but the city lights were enough for Andy to make out that Rafa was grinning at him, his white teeth a nice contrast to his tanned skin.  
"English weather", Rafa said teasingly and watched while the Scot tried to tame his wet hair.  
"It's not always like that."  
Rafa made a small sound that was probably a snore, "Sure is."  
He crinkled his nose while glancing outside and Andy thought he could see the Spaniard shivering.  
"I hope we have no English weather in Wimbledon. I not like cold."  
Andy was glad that they were apparently able to have such a simply conversation after the events of the day, "Yeah, because you're a spoiled island boy. I hope that it rains for two weeks straight, it will make it easier to beat you."  
He didn't, for he hated rain on court almost as much as Rafa and the Spaniard knew that but he had always liked to tease Rafa.  
Especially if it caused him to make such a pouty face.  
Rafa sighed, "We could meet in final. Press would go crazy, no?"  
"They go crazy every year and find a rivalry to focus on. Nothing we haven't dealt with before, right?"  
Rafa didn't seem convinced, "But this time, they think we in love, no? Maybe think I will let you win or you me."  
Andy realized that the majorcan's voice was slightly trembling while the city lights illuminated Rafa's face softly now and then.  
"But that's not true, Rafa. We will both play our very best tennis and they'll see that. The tournament starts in a week and maybe we can even end this thing right after the final. Say something like that we realized we cannot be in a relationship and rivals at the same time."  
Rafa seemed to flinch but didn't say anything so Andy continued, "We're friends, remember? We'll do this together and it will be fine."  
The car stopped and Andy shot Rafa a last glance before he got out of the car, "Let's just enjoy dinner, yes?"  
Rafa nodded.

Talking to Rafa was nice, great even, Andy thought when they had both ordered their meals.  
Off season, they often spent their weeks on different continents for training and during tournaments, they were both busy with their play which meant that evenings like this were very rare.  
And he enjoyed the Spaniard's company, especially the ease with which Rafa could start a conversation about anything and everything, always showing interest in what the other had to say.  
They spoke about Rafa's latest project in Manacor, the Rafael Nadal Academy, "I want something lasting when I retire", Rafa said at one point, "When I leave, what stay? Trophies not count then."  
"You want to make an impact", Andy nodded.  
"Sí. Impact", Rafa replied and smiled, as if that was the word he hadn't found, "And you?"  
Andy sighed, deeply, and Rafa smiled understandingly.  
"Who doesn't want to build something that lasts? But now is now, the present comes first. You're not thinking about retiring soon, are you?"  
Andy felt an odd itch in his chest at the thought of Rafa not being on the tour, of not having him around with his smiles and his accent.  
"No", Rafa replied but lowered his gaze, "not soon."  
"But...?",  
This time it was the Spaniard that sighed, "I not know. We're old, no?"  
"You're still better than the rest of us", Andy said and shrugged his shoulders. Rafa's face lit up.  
"No, no, no. You're number one, Andy."  
"Yeah and you've just won Roland Garros."  
The Spaniard apparently didn't know what to answer to that and Andy wondered whether Rafa was actually shy about his wins.  
"You want kids, Andy?", Rafa eventually blurted out and his hand covered his mouth the moment the words had left his lips.  
"Eh... Aren't we a little early in our relationship to discuss such life-changing matters?", Andy said and grinned, his hand instinctively reaching out to take Rafa's in his, trying to show him that he could ask him whatever he wanted.  
Rafa blushed, heavily and coughed, "No-not with me, of course. With girlfriend or wife."  
Andy took some time to think, his gaze wandering over Rafa's face that was open and interested.  
"Yes. One day, why not?"  
Rafa nodded and for some reason the smile he gave the Scot made Andy feel as if he had passed an important test. He suddenly felt nervous in his own skin.  
So he came up with the easiest question, "What about you?"  
"Sí, I like kids."  
"Almost everyone does but that doesn't mean that one's ready to be a dad, right? I mean, just look at Nole."  
Rafa let out a low chuckle, "Novak is amazing dad."  
"Yes", Andy sighed, "he is. So you're planning to be a father?"  
Andy could clearly see that Rafa felt more than just uncomfortable with the question but he wasn't going to go easy on the Spaniard now, "With Xisca?"  
"Que?", Rafa said and took a long sip of his wine.  
"Xisca? Your, I don't know, ex-girlfriend?"  
"Andy...", Rafa shook his head, "She was never my girlfriend. The press, the guys, you, everyone assumed. I not say she is, no?"  
Andy was taken aback by that. He had met her several times and yes, he had just assumed that Rafa and her were a couple because wouldn't Rafa have said anything if she wasn't?  
"So she is just a friend? Like Roger or something?"  
Rafa flinched, "No... We have special relationship. I know her since we kids, sí? She protects me."  
"How exactly?", Andy asked, totally confused by what Rafa had just revealed.  
Rafa let out a long sigh, "Press always asks so private questions. When Xisca is here, press only cares about her, no? They take pictures, they don't even ask if she is my girlfriend, no? It's very easy."  
"So you've done a fake relationship before to escape stupid questions about your private life?"  
Rafa's eyes went wide at that, "No! It's not fake relationship, we not lie!"  
"Yeah, but you weren't telling the truth either..."  
"It's not same like this", the Spaniard made a gesture including himself and Andy.  
Andy grinned, "Maybe I should get myself a Xisca too, when we 'break up'."  
"You cannot have Xisca."  
Andy chuckled at the language barrier and shook his head, "Yes, of course. Someone else, doing the same job."  
"I do the job for you now, no?"  
"Not forever", Andy said.  
Rafa lowered his head.  
They finished their meals and when they got up, Andy noticed something from the corner of his eyes.  
"Rafa", he whispered and moved a little closer to the Spaniard.  
"Sí?"  
"There's someone taking pictures of us. No! Don't look."  
"Should we.. do something? Couple thing?"  
Andy could once again hear a little panic in the Majorcan's voice and therefore shook his head slightly.  
"No, it's fine. But is it okay if I...", he brought himself closer to Rafa and rested his fingers on the small of Rafa's back, softly guiding him through the restaurant.  
Rafa's white button down was so thin that he felt the Spaniard's body heat against his fingertips, slowly radiating through his skin.

 

"I didn't know you could act like this", Novak said when he greeted Andy on the court for a shared training session the next day.  
"Mh?", he asked in confusion and checked his rackets and balls.  
"Oh God, you haven't seen them yet, have you?"  
Novak grinned one of his Djoker grins and Andy rolled his eyes at his friend, "Seen what?"  
"Your date with Rafa...? The pictures...?"  
"It wasn't really a date, you know that."  
"Yeah, tell that yourself", Novak grabbed something out of his bag and all but shoved his mobile in Andy's face.  
It was a photo, clearly taken yesterday evening at the restaurant, from somewhere that must had been directly behind Rafa's back.  
Which meant that it showed just the back of the Spaniard's head and Andy's face completely.  
Andy's flushed, raw face with his bottom lip drawn in a little (what he always did when he concentrated on something), his pupils dilated, his hand covering Rafa's.  
He stared at himself, at his expression that was so unfamiliar because he had never, ever, seen such a picture of himself before and Novak of course noticed that something wasn't right.  
"You are acting, Andy, right? Because if you aren't..."  
"Of course I was acting", Andy snapped, his cheeks burning, "I knew exactly that a picture was taken. It has to look real if we want to make this work."


	2. Chapter 2

  
Andy was bored.  
Well, not really, considering that there were actually dozens of things he should finally get a grasp on but he just wasn't in the mood.  
Instead, he eventually decided to give it a shot and call Rafa.  
The Spaniard didn't pick up for so long that Andy was about to end the call when the line finally cracked, "Andy?"  
"Hey, yeah, it's me."  
He could hear water running in the background and soft music playing on a radio.  
"Are you in the shower?"  
Rafa let out a chuckle, "No, I'm preparing dinner."  
"You're cooking?"  
"I just said, no?", the Majorcan replied and Andy was sure he was biting back a grin.  
He coughed, "Yes, sure. I was just calling to ask you if you want to go for a walk. I'm a bit bored, you know. But if you're expecting someone, it's fine."  
There was a moment of silence between them and Andy could hear the water being turned off, plus the sound of several cooking items.  
"I not say I'm expecting guests, Andy. I will finish cooking and then we can walk, sí?"  
Andy smiled and nodded and then hit his head against his palms when he realized that Rafa wasn't able to see that, "Great! Enjoy your dinner, I'll pick you up in an hour? There's a nice park close to your hotel."  
"No no no!", Rafa said a little breathless and the Scot was sure that he was now holding his phone in between his ear and his shoulder while continuing the cooking.  
"You don't want to come?", Andy asked and felt his heart drop a little.  
"No!", Rafa replied and sighed, "I mean, we can go for walk and then you join me for dinner?"  
Andy beamed and wasn't exactly sure why, "I'd like that."  
"Then is decided, no?", Rafa answered contently.

He picked Rafa up 20 minutes later and it was raining heavily again but he had brought the biggest umbrella he could find and with their collars up and hoods on, Andy was positive that they would not be easily recognized.  
Rafa pulled a face when he stepped out of the warmth of the hotel lobby but it soon turned into a wide smile that the Scot returned.  
The park was still just as nice as Andy remembered it, with small paths guiding through freshly cut grass and high trees protecting them a little from the rain.  
However, they still had to walk side by side to fit under the umbrella.  
"You in rain gear is a very rare sight", Andy said and let his gaze wander over the bright orange Nike jacket that Rafa wore. So much about the not being recognized thing.  
"Too much, no?", Rafa replied and cracked a smile when he spotted Andy's critical gaze.  
"Just a little", he said and grinned when he tore his glance away.  
Rafa dropped the subject and instead focused on something different, "How is your family?"  
Andy was surprised by the question but Rafa seemed to be genuinely interested in it.  
"They're fine. Jamie is a little frustrated with his game at the moment, but he'll get over it."  
Rafa nodded and Andy could hear tiny stones crunching under their wet shoes with every step.  
"How about your family?"  
When Rafa didn't reply immediately, Andy stopped walking and turned to face the Spaniard, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that they were only inches apart under the dark umbrella.  
"Is everything okay with them, Rafa?"  
"Sí, okay...", the Majorcan answered and Andy frowned.  
"What is it, then?"  
Rafa sighed, "They say they happy for me, _us,_ I mean. And I know they are but Spanish press is different, you know. Not as gay-friendly as English press. So they worry."  
"Wait...", Andy said and raised a hand, "you didn't tell your family that we're not actually in a relationship? They think we're dating?"  
Rafa blushed in a deep shade of red and he strictly avoided the Scot's gaze, "Sí."  
"Why?", was the only thing Andy could manage to say and immediately regretted hat the words came out much harsher than they were intended.  
Rafa's gaze shot up, "You mad at me, no?"  
"I just... Why, Rafa?"  
"Is because my sister, Maribel. She saw it on the news and she calls me after that. She was so happy for me, Andy...", Rafa's voice sounded broken on so many levels and Andy held his breath, "I not could take that away from her, no?"  
Rafa was back to not looking at him and the Scot drew in a sharp breath, "Rafa..."

  
"I know is stupid, okay?", the Spaniard snapped and started to walk again, "I know when she called but I not could say anything."  
_This doesn't make sense,_ Andy thought. Rafa, who hadn't even wanted to agree to this fake relationship thing, had willingly lied to his sister?  
There had to be something he didn't tell him and the way Rafa stared at anything but the Scot supported his hypothesis but he didn't want to push the subject.  
But he would figure it out.

  
"Mr Murray!", someone suddenly called and they both jumped, Andy instinctively bringing a little space between them.  
After the first shock wore off, Andy saw the man (he realized that he was more of a teenager) standing 5 meters away from them, a camera hanging around his neck.  
"We don't make any comments", Andy said firmly and the boy smiled apologetically.  
"I thought so. I didn't want to bother you at all but can I show you my card?", he replied almost shyly.  
Andy shot Rafa a questioning look but the Spaniard just shrugged his shoulders.  
The boy was at least a hundred times more polite than the majority of his colleagues, so Andy eventually invited him closer with a hand gesture.  
The boy beamed.  
"It is so great to meet you! For my job, I meet many interesting people but meeting sport stars is very special", he let out a low chuckle, "it has actually only happened with Tom Daley before."  
"You're not a sports reporter?"  
The boy shook his head and held out a small card, "I'm Ryan. Ryan Prachett. I'm a co-writer for an LGBTQ-online magazine."  
_OH_.  
The boy sensed that Andy was hesitating and lowered his phone, "Is there a problem with that? I would have loved to do a short interview with you. It's only four questions."  
Andy felt his body going tense and he once again shot Rafa a glance, "I'm sorry, Ryan, but I don't think that this would be a good id-..."

  
"No", Rafa suddenly interrupted him, "I want to do."  
When Andy didn't say anything, Rafa looked up at him with pleading dark eyes, "Is important to me, Andy. Is a magazine for gay kids, no?"  
"Yes", Ryan replied enthusiastically, "especially for teenagers. It would mean a lot to many kids out there that are struggling with their sexuality to have you two as a role model."  
Andy could feel Rafa's knuckles softly brushing against his, "Is okay Andy, no? Just four questions."  
"Okay", the Scot said with a big lump in his throat.  
"Great! My first question is: When did you two find out that you're attracted to the same sex?"  
_Oh God,_ Andy thought and groaned internally. He should have known better.  
"Ehm", the Brit made and rapidly closed his mouth again, "I think... It was a realization that came over time. I didn't wake up one morning feeling gayer than the day before. And I'm bisexual, by the way."  
Ryan nodded and typed something into his phone.  
Then he turned to Rafa, who's skin was now a few shades redder.  
"I not know until I met Andy", he eventually came up with and Andy was a little jealous that he hadn't thought of such a clever thing to say.  
Ryan smiled.  
"Why did you decide to go public with your relationship? It was a very brave act, I have to say."  
"We not want to hide anymore, no?", Rafa answered before Andy could come up with anything, "I'm happy that we not lie anymore."  
Rafa sounded calm and sure of himself and Andy wetted his lip with his tongue.  
"Third question: What do you like most about each other?"  
Andy could feel Rafa going a little tense beside him, so he answered first, "Rafa is just so very _nice._  He gives people the impression of being interesting and worthy. He treats everyone with kindness."  
Rafa made a small sound in the back of his throat and then coughed to cover it up.  
"What about you, Rafael?", Ryan asked after some fast typing.  
The Spaniard let out a breath and mumbled something in Spanish that Andy couldn't catch, "Eh, I really like Andy's play, no? Is very fast and he is a good opponent."  
The Brit could not stop himself from saying "How romantic, Rafa" and he felt relief washing over him when Ryan let out a chuckle, apparently convinced that the Spaniard had wanted to tease the Scot.  
"Then there's only one question left. What is your idea of a perfect date?"  
That, Andy could handle at least.  
"That really depends. I'm often very busy for weeks so I prefer relaxed dates. Going to a quiet restaurant or spending time outside."  
Rafa nodded in agreement, "Cooking together is perfect date for me."  
Andy's gaze wandered over to Rafa and the Spaniard blushed heavily when he noticed the Scot's glance.  
"Thank you so much guys! It was an honor to meet you!"  
Ryan also wished both of them good luck for Wimbledon and then asked them if he could take a picture of them for his article.  
"We can't just stand next to each other if we want to look like a couple", Andy whispered once Ryan had taken a few steps back to get a good camera angle.  
"What we do?", Rafa asked and the tiny dose of panic was once again back in his voice.  
"Don't worry, Rafa, I will only take your hand, is that okay for you?"  
The Majorcan nodded almost invisibly and after softly bringing their palms together, Andy intertwined their fingers.  
Rafa's skin was warm and and his skin wasn't too soft, the tapings tickling the insides of Andy's fingers and still, he felt himself sighing contently when Rafa increased the pressure slightly and curled his hand around Andy's.  
After that, Ryan waved them goodbye and Andy followed Rafa back into his hotel.  
It was only when they were both standing in the elevator in front of a huge mirror that the Scot realized that he was still holding the Majorcan's hand.  
It felt natural in a way he hadn't expected it to feel, Rafael's tanned skin making a nice contrast to his pale one.  
Rafa did not seem to notice nor care at all, instead he grinned at Andy and when the Scot asked him about it, he just shrugged his shoulders.  
"Is a little chaos", Rafa warned him apologetically when they eventually stood in front of the door as the Spaniard fumbled for his key card and held the door open for Andy.

Rafa had apparently rented a two rooms apartment in warm creme colours with soft lightning that set a very comfortable atmosphere.  
Andy made a step into the room and took in the sight; to his right, there was a huge open kitchen with a large cooking island.  
To his left, he found the living room area and in general, the room wasn't too big but rather cosy and welcoming.  
And Rafa hadn't promised too much when he had warned him about the chaos; on the couch, on shelves, under an armchair and in each corner of the room, there were Rafa's clothes, his tennis stuff, a few of his books and not to forget that the kitchen was flooded with cooking items, several pots and pans standing around.  
Then the smell hit him.  
"Oh _God_ ", Andy said and let out a sound that sounded embarrassing much like a moan, "What is this?"  
"I say I cook, no?", Rafa replied and hastily tried to shove some of his stuff behind the couch where they would be out of sight.  
A few of his dark locks had fallen into his face, slightly wetted by the rain, and every of Rafa's attempts at trying to tame them failed.  
"Yes, but..."  
Rafa smiled in a way that made him at least 10 years younger, "You like it?"  
Andy nodded vigorously and watched the Spaniard when he started to reheat some of the pots on a small flame.  
"Can I help you with anything?"  
"You want to drink wine? Toni brought some from Manacor. Is over there", Rafa pointed at a cupboard with his head, not tearing his gaze away from the vegetables in the pan.  
Usually, Andy did not drink any alcohol during the preparation for a Grand Slam but this time, he thought, _fuck it_ , and started searching the drawers for an opener.

  
"If this tastes as good as it smells, your cooking abilities might be my new favourite thing about you", Andy said only half-joking when he poured the wine into two glasses he had found, now standing in front of Rafa on the other side of the kitchen island.  
Rafa eventually lifted his gaze and laughed while shoving a few strands of hair behind his ear, "It will. Is family recipe, no?"  
"Great."  
And heaven, if Rafa's meal wasn't the best thing Andy had ever eaten.  
They had decided to eat on the couch, Rafa had crossed his legs in a way that looked painful and when Andy finished his third plate, he snuggled deep into the cushions, dramatically throwing a hand against his forehead.  
"I think I have just gained 5 pounds."  
Rafa chuckled, "Qué?"  
"This was amazing, Rafa", Andy assured the Spaniard and yawned, sudden tiredness washing over him, "I now expect you to cook for me at least before every final."  
Rafa let out a laugh at that, "You think can play with extra 5 pounds?"  
Andy's gaze wandered to where his friend was sitting next to him, his feet drawn in on the couch and his lips a little redder due to the Spanish wine.  
"I honestly do not care at all."  
"Tastes better than a win?", Rafa asked teasingly and Andy smirked.  
"Close."  
Andy yawned again and the Majorcan shot him a concerned gaze, "Is late, no?"  
The Scot nodded, "I should probably go if I don't want to pass out during practice tomorrow."  
Rafa nodded in agreement but for a few moments, none of them moved until Rafa eventually coughed softly and stood up to sort their plates into the dishwasher.  
"Do you want to practice with me tomorrow?", Andy asked when he was already halfway out of the door.  
He thought he'd seen something clouding Rafa's eyes when the Spaniard looked up at him, "Roger has invite me. Sorry, Andy."  
The Brit felt oddly disappointed at the words and swallowed, "Oh."  
"We can practice day after tomorrow, no?"  
"That's my physio day", Andy replied and Rafa lowered his gaze.  
"You could practice with Novak, no?"  
"Sure", Andy said and forced himself to smile and bite back a _It's not the same, though._  
"Is he good? Novak, I mean? Have not seen him since... the day", the Spaniard breathed out, his gaze still not meeting Andy's.  
"Novak is always okay. I've met him this morning."

  
Memories of their meeting flooded Andy's mind and a groan escaped his lips when he remembered the Serb's words.  
_You are acting, Andy, right?_  
"You OK.?"  
"What?", Andy asked, lost in his thoughts and stuck with the feeling of not being able to get a grasp, "yeah, sorry. Good night!"  
Andy closed the door, the last thing to see being Rafa's surprised and confused face and he had to force himself to think of anything but the warmth of the Majorcan's hands on his whole way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to update this fic as fast as possible and here it is :)
> 
> Comments and feedback in general is always my best motivation <3.


	3. Chapter 3

When Andy woke up the next day in his large double bed that he hadn't shared with anyone since the break up with Kim, he couldn't help thinking about how it would be to wake up next to Rafa.  
Rafa, who always needed his 8 hours of sleep and sun-bathed under the morning sky whenever there had been a game set early.  
Andy wondered whether it would be like that, too; if Rafa was all sleepy in the mornings, his hair sticking to his face and the dark locks a mess.  
If he would beg Andy for _just five more minutes, no?_ to catch some of the golden light the morning sun was providing.  
He wondered if Rafa spoke in Spanish when he was woken in the middle of the night, if it would take him a few minutes to lose his heavy accent.  
After a cold shower, Andy eventually decided to call Novak and ask him for a training session like Rafa had suggested.

It turned out to be nothing but a disaster.  
While most of his first serves hit the net or were out, Novak returned all those who made it with ease, a smug look decorating his face.  
"You've just lost the first set 6:1, congratulations Andy", the Serb called out and confidently played with the racket in his hand.  
"We're not counting!", Andy shouted back from the other side of the field and Novak rolled his eyes.  
"I am! And I don't know what you're doing but if you won't get your head back down to earth, you won't even make it through the first round!"  
The Scot angrily fired an ace in his friend's direction at these words but what annoyed him the most was that Novak was actually right.  
He wasn't focused and the first match was only a few days away.  
"Break?", Novak asked a little softer now, though his voice hadn't lost the teasing tone yet.  
They strolled over to a bench and sat down side by side, Andy letting out a deep groan while fumbling for a water bottle.  
He was well aware that Novak was watching him curiously from behind his towel.  
"What?", he eventually snapped and turned to face the Serb sitting next to him.  
Novak leaned back against the bench, "What happened?"  
Andy frowned, "What should have happened?"  
The Serb shrugged but didn't tear his observant gaze away, "You were with Rafa yesterday evening, weren't you?"  
"How do you know?"  
"There's a quite obvious hickey on your neck...", Novak grinned and Andy's hand instinctively reached up to touch said body part until he saw it though and shot a dark glance at the Serb.  
"Funny", he said sarcastically and Novak let out a laugh.  
"I've talked to Roger", he finally said after his chest had stopped shaking.  
"You've talked to Roger? Why?"  
The Serb's gaze was ghosting over Andy's face for a few seconds before he answered, "He called me this morning."  
"And? Can't you say more than one fucking sentence at a time, Nole?", Andy felt emotions bubbling up in his chest and had to suppress the urge to shake Novak.  
"Apparently, he's talked to Rafa. And he seemed worried about him."  
A warning glance kept the Serb talking.  
"Roger thinks that Rafa is a little overwhelmed by the situation. That, I don't know, Rafa has never been good with the press, right? Roger says he's too honest with anyone."

  
Andy had to think of what the Spaniard had revealed to him yesterday about Xisca's role but decided to keep his mouth shut concerning that topic.  
"So Roger thinks that Rafa might not be able to go on with this fake relationship thing?"  
Novak opened and closed his mouth several times and Andy squinted his eyes, "Is there something you're not telling me, Nole?"  
"Nope", Novak replied with a popping _P_ and the Scot wasn't convinced. Not at all.  
"Well, let me tell you that Rafa and I did an interview for a gay magazine yesterday and it didn't give me the impression that he can't handle the press."  
"Rafa's never been one to lie", Novak said with a tone that implied that there was more to his words but Andy couldn't point a finger on what it was.  
"Seems like he's changed", he replied instead and shrugged.  
Novak sighed and picked up a new set of balls.  
"You up for another round?"  
"Sure."  
Novak patted his knee comfortingly, "Don't let him fuck with you head, Andy."  
He earned himself the finger with that.

The rest of the day went by in a rush.  
He got a text message from Kim at some point when he was sitting on his couch swapping through TV channels.

**Is it real?**

He stared at the words for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts and admiration for the woman he had once loved as a wife and now adored as a friend.  
It wasn't really a surprise that she had seen this through; in fact, he would have probably told her about Rafa before telling it to the world, if it had been real.  
However, he typed in several messages telling her that she was wrong, that he had been dating Rafa for months, but he deleted each in the end.  
Kim did not deserve such lies and Andy realized that he missed her.  
Missed her around with their insider jokes and simply the trust he had in her. They understood each other without words.

**I'm beginning to wish it was,**

was what he sent in the end and realized that he had held his breath until his phone buzzed again.

**I'm sorry.**

He threw his phone to the other side of the couch where it got lost in a pile of cushions like he was lost in this thing that was him and Rafa.  
He told himself that it was nothing, really, that it was barely a crush but God, the _potential_ , it held.  
A potential to fuck everything up, to lose a career and a friend on top.  
Eventually, he defeatedly crawled over the couch to fish for his phone.

**Want to come over for the tournament?**

It hadn't even been a year since Kim had been to one of his matches for the last time but it already felt like a lifetime.  
Despite the rumors ghosting through the media saying that it was Andy who ended their relationship - which was now only fueled by the news of him dating Rafa - it had actually been Kim that dumped _him_.  
He hadn't understood it at first and he had been terribly angry at her but after a few weeks, when the pain had worn off, he had realized that she had indeed been right; what had once been romantic love had turned into a deep friendship over time. Nothing had been left of those feelings he had had for her during the first years of their relationship but they had been replaced by something deeper, something just as worthy.  
So he had called her after the US Open and they had met for a coffee in his hometown.  
He had been surprised that nothing had really changed between them; they still talked about the same things, made the same jokes and laughed at the same movies but he had felt a relief at not forcing things to work out anymore and he had spotted the same in Kim's eyes.  
When Kim didn't answer for a few minutes, he sent a **You can bring Hannah if you want?**

  
One day in December, Kim had brought Hannah to one of their movie marathon days.  
"This is my girlfriend Hannah Andy, Hannah, this is my ex-husband Andy Murray."  
"Never heard of him", the tall women with dark hair and eyes had grinned with an arm around Kim's waist and he had instinctively liked her.  
And since he was now in a relationship himself (sort of), Kim would be able to visit him as a friend without the yellow press immediately claiming it as the cutest reunion of the year.

 **I'll think about it. I don't want to steal the spotlight from you and Rafa.**  
Andy sighed at the message and went to bed.

He woke to a message of Kim that made him smile.  
It was a picture of two suitcases and plane tickets waiting on the table in her living room.  
Two days before the start of Wimbledon meant that he'd spend the whole day with his physio team to get rid of muscle tightness and make sure that he wouldn't be overtrained in his first match.  
It was 7pm and he was on his way home when Rafa called him.  
"Is better if we come together, no?", he said before Andy could say anything else, his voice indicating that he was a little out of breath.  
"What?"  
There was stunned silence at the other end of the line until Andy couldn't stand it anymore, "What do you mean, Rafa?"  
There was a groan and some fast whispering in Spanish that wasn't directed at him until Rafa spoke again, "Dios, you forget?"  
"Forget what?"  
"The dinner, no? With all players and sponsors?"  
It hit him like a brick.  
How on _EARTH_ had he been able to forget that? It wasn't his first time at Wimbledon, after all and he had been to the dinner every year, so-...  
"You there?"  
"Yeah, shit, Rafa, I'm so sorry", he looked at his watch, "we have to be there at 7.30, right?"  
Rafa sounded clearly annoyed but he wasn't one to be sulking, "I pick you up, no? How long you need?"  
Andy was already fumbling with the keys to his flat, failing a few times at trying to open the lock by using the keys for his house back at home in Scotland.  
"You're already in the car?"  
Rafa replied with a long "Sí" and Andy could hear fast Spanish mumbling in the background. Considering the upset tone, it was probably Toni.  
"Give me ten minutes."  
"Okay, you hurry, no?", Rafa said and hung up.

  
Andy, on the other hand, sprinted into his bathroom, still undressing while the cold water was already hitting his shoulders.  
In the back of his closet, he found the blue suit he had worn when he'd met the Prime Minister and while it was a little crinkled, he didn't really have another option.  
2 minutes later, he slid beside Rafa in the back of the limo the Spaniard's team had rented, his hair still wet and with Toni shooting him dark looks.  
The Majorcan wore a black tux which was complimenting his figure, his locks tamed and slid back, apart from one strand of hair that fell into his face.  
Andy suppressed the urge to reach out and brush it back behind his ear.  
"I'm so sorry, I totally forgot about the dinner."  
Rafa cracked a small smile, "Is what I think. But you are here now, no?"  
"Sí", Andy replied and felt incredibly stupid when Rafa lifted an eyebrow.  
Moreover, he was glad that the light was too dim for the Spaniard make out that he was blushing.  
"Remember, this is your first official as couple", Toni said eventually and interrupted Andy's thoughts.  
Rafa looked at his uncle expectantly.  
"What should we do? Make out in the bathroom and give someone a hint?", Andy snorted and Rafa smirked.  
"No, chico. Press will think it's only natural that you are shy with each other. Because is new situations for you, being public."  
Andy could feel Rafa relaxing visibly beside him.  
"However", Toni raised a hand to shut both of them up, "you are still a couple, sí? This is not just about the press; they will not be at the dinner but only in the lobby, sí. You have to convince the other players, coaches, sponsors. Especially the sponsors, está claro?"  
Rafa nodded and Andy joined in.

Before they got out of the car, Rafa turned one last time to ask Andy a question, "Why we do this again?"  
Insecurity was showing on the Spaniard's face and this time, Andy didn't hold himself back and instead reached out to take Rafa's hand in his.  
"Because while they are right now only interested in a cute and a little scandalous love story and maybe which toys we use in the bedroom", Andy thought he could see Rafa blushing at that, "they would chase you down if we didn't. You remember what they wrote about you when the picture went viral, right? Questioning your role as an idol for kids, claiming that you'd bring someone different home each night?"  
Rafa nodded, his shoulders slumped forward.  
"Rafa...", Andy whispered and searched for the Majorcan's gaze, "I'm here to protect you, right? Like Xisca."  
At that, Rafa's gaze shot up.  
"You not like Xisca."  
Andy chuckled and bit his lip, "A manlier version of Xisca. But the point is, it's necessary if we want to play tennis without being bothered by false accusations. You understand that, don't you?"  
"Sí. I understand, no? But I wish we..."  
Andy raised a hand to interrupt the Spaniard, "Hey, Rafa, listen. I'm fine with it, okay? Don't worry too much. We're friends, right? It will work out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter, yay!  
> It would mean the world if you'd left feedback in the comments.  
> I hope you enjoyed it.  
> What do you think how it will continue?  
> Certain wishes? Let me know... ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Andy worried about Rafa, though but when they got out of the car, he felt struck.  
Rafa's whole body language changed the moment they set foot on the red carpet, the Spaniard's hand coming to rest around Andy's waist, his fingers soft against the small of the Scot's back.  
And Andy couldn't really do anything because there were flashing lights everywhere, blinding him and making him feel dizzy, but Rafa's arm was steady and stabling him, gently guiding him past some members of the PR team.  
They stopped in the middle of the carpet, in front of a wall with the Wimbledon logo, and Rafa's arm was still around Andy's waist, their bodies touching from hips to shoulders.  
The flashlights of the cameras intensified once again to a point where all he could see was white.  
But he could feel Rafa's warmth against him, felt how his chest was heaving with every breath, their lungs slowly finding a shared rhythm.  
He believed that the Majorcan was looking at him now, if the movement against his ribs was any indicator, but Andy didn't turn his head.  
If he was honest with himself - which had seemed to become a thing lately - he was a little afraid of what would happen if he did, unsure how far this confident Rafa was planning to take this.  
"Give us a kiss," someone screamed, followed by a "Closer, closer!" and some urgent "More!" chanting.  
Andy could feel Rafa hesitating beside him, felt how the Spaniard gently pulled him a little closer.  
And before Andy could even think - because if he had, he sure as hell wouldn't have made that decision - he passively watched himself turning his head to softly press his lips against Rafa's temple, which was the perfect height to do so since Rafa was a few centimetres shorter than him.  
And Rafa actually leaned _into_ the touch, his fingers secretly crawling around the material of Andy's jacket behind his back.  
Eventually, the Majorcan entangled himself from their half-embrace and looked up at the Scot with glowing dark eyes and slightly opened lips, "Is enough press for now, no?"  
Andy nodded dumbly, his mouth dry and his knees somehow shaky.  
Rafa didn't seem to realize his current state, though, so he followed the Spaniard down the red carpet until they were finally in the lobby of the hotel that would hold the dinner this year.  
"You think we convince?" Rafa asked him after he had gently shoved the still speechless Brit into a more or less silent corner.  
The Spaniard's eyes were still sparkling and even though he was tanned, Andy could make out that his face was flushed.  
It actually seems as if Rafa is on an adrenaline high, Andy thought, all things considered.  
"Yeah," he answered when he finally trusted his voice enough, "pretty convincing."  
"Is good, no?"  
Rafa watched him closely when Andy nodded - and couldn't stop doing so once he got started.  
So he was more than just glad when Roger and Novak popped up from somewhere and forced both of them to follow them into the dining hall where dozens of nicely decorated round tables were illuminated by soft lightning that switched the colour scheme now and then.  
Novak pointed at a table in the back of the hall from where Jelena and Mirka were already waving at the new arrivals.  
Andy awkwardly slid down on a chair next to Rafa, Novak on his other side, and greeted the wives of his friends.  
It had been a while since they had all been together like this. The last time, he had brought Kim and Rafa had brought Xisca and thinking about it now, Andy still felt like he was going slightly insane.  
"It's so nice to have you here!" Mirka started and Jelena joined in.  
"You two have no idea how happy I am for you! You just sort of... fit together, you know?" she said and Andy noticed that Mirka sent Roger a questioning look which the Swiss replied to by mouthing a word Andy didn't understand.  
"How is it, being in a relationship with..."  
Andy thought Jelena was about to say 'rival' but she proved him wrong, "the man that half of the tennis fans - female and male, by the way, wants to sleep with?"  
"Eh... Is..." Rafa made and Novak let out a laugh.  
"Rafa, Andy might be quite handsome - at least if one's into weirdly large limps, strange accents or swear words - but Jelena was speaking of you."  
"Qué?” Rafa asked with wide eyes and doubt in his eyes.  
"Oh my God, Rafa, you actually think Andy's hotter than you?", Novak asked and the other members of their little meeting seemed equally shocked.  
"Thanks guys", Andy said half-sarcastically and half-teasingly because honestly, had Rafa ever stood in front of a mirror?  
"Sí...no? What you want me to say?" Andy almost felt a little sorry for the way the Spaniard was watching all of them closely with a confused look on his face.  
Moreover, the Scot noticed that Roger was the only one who kept a blank, almost somehow worried, face.

“Come on,” Novak said repeatedly, “Andy is a clear 7. An 8 on good days, considering that his success and money might be a bonus.”  
Andy rolled his eyes at that and emptied his glass of water in a rush.  
Novak just grinned and continued, “But you’re a 10 out of 10. Just look at you, god damnit.”  
Roger let out a soft chuckle, “Seems like that number sticks with you.”  
Rafa raised his eyebrows and shook his head in disbelief, “You all idiots.”  
“Don’t put all of us under the same umbrella with Andy”, Novak replied and earned himself a kick against his shinbone from said Scot.  
“Ouch!” the Serb let out and shot Andy a dark glance while reaching for his glass of champagne, “Don’t you think Rafa is a ten, Andy?”  
At that moment, the Scot just wished for his gaze to be able to kill or the ground to open up and swallow Novak whole.  
What was he supposed to say?  
How far were they supposed to take this?  
Apparently, Jelena was the only one on their table that didn’t know the true nature of his relationship with Rafa so why should he continue this charade?  
But was Rafa a 10/10? Andy had never really thought about him like that, let alone any of his male friends.  
His gaze turned to Rafa and he looked at the Spaniard for a few seconds.  
He wasn’t blind, though.  
Rafa’s skin was amazing, he had the kind of smile one could get lost in and his body had surely caused lots of fans some wet dreams but...  
But what?  
Andy wasn’t even sure himself. Wasn’t sure of anything anymore lately.  
“Uh. Well, he has nice hair and I sort of like his face,” he eventually said and really wanted to punch _his_ face the second the words had left his mouth.  
“I guess what you’re trying to say is you think Rafa’s handsome,” Novak giggled, the champagne apparently kicking in.  
“Whatever,” he shot back and felt more and more uncomfortable under the gazes of his friends.  
“I’ll get us some drinks”, Andy eventually said after a few moments of silence and made attempts to get up.  
“I’ll join you.”  
When the Scot looked up, he spotted Roger standing up and coming around the table. He nodded at the Swiss and together, they made their way through the growing crowd to the other side of the dining hall.  
Having a Roger Federer by one’s side was clearly an advantage, considering that everyone immediately made space for them once they had reached the bar.  
“I’ll take a coke and beer. Alcohol-free, please,” Roger ordered and then made some room for Andy.  
“A double whisky and a water for me, please.”  
From the corner of his eye, Andy could see that Roger raised an eyebrow at him and before the Swiss could point out that drinking alcohol a day before the start of a Grand Slam wasn’t the most clever thing to do, he mumbled, “Nerves.”  
Roger looked at him in a way that Andy interpreted as sympathetic and when they both got their drinks and the Scot wanted to make his way back to the table, the Swiss held him back by laying a hand on his upper arm.  
Roger leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his beer.  
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he then asked and Andy felt a lump forming in his throat at the question, so he just nodded and awkwardly tried to mirror Roger’s posture.  
It took the Swiss some time to find the right words and Andy grew more and more nervous in the process.  
“It’s about Rafa…”  
“I guessed that much,” Andy replied and waited for Roger to continue.  
“Look, I understand that you’re trying to protect Rafa. And I hold lots of respect for you because of that”, he took another sip of his drink, “but I’ve known Rafa for a long time, too. And I am worried about him.”  
“Yeah, Novak hinted something like that. Why?”  
Roger let out a sigh, “You know how sensitive he is…”  
“Rafa is one of the strongest people I know”, Andy said.  
Roger nodded and then slightly shook his head afterwards, “I guess. But not when it comes to that… thing… between you. I’m really worried, Andy.”  
“So I’m trying to protect Rafa from the press and you’re protecting him from me?”, Andy let out a laugh, “Great.”  
The next question hit him out of the blue, “How do you feel about Rafael, Andy?”  
Roger had come a little closer, his intense gaze fixed on the Scot and Andy could feel his neck growing hot to the dozen time this day.  
He really didn’t know what to answer to that question but he knew where Roger was going with it, “Listen, Roger. Even _if_ I felt more for Rafa than just friendship – and I don’t – I would never put him into an awkward position, OK? I would never tell him about it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
Roger’s eyes widened a little and he exhaled audibly. Then, the Swiss’ mouth opened and closed several times but in the end, he just shook his head and continued to watch Andy closely.  
Shortly before the silence between them would have become too awkward, Roger said, “Be gentle with him, please.”  
And before Andy could answer, the Swiss had turned around and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind the Scott with thoughts spinning through his head that were slowly causing him a headache.  
To be honest, he did not really understand Roger’s point. Andy wanted to _protect_ Rafa after all, not guide him into a shark tank.  
But then again, Roger was probably right: Andy would have to get rid of this silly crush as soon as possible if he 1) didn’t want to put Rafa in a position where he’d probably continue this fake relationship out of sheer kindness once he found out, 2) force Rafa to end their friendship or 3) get his own heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while since I last updated this story (mainly because I still cannot cope with Andy not being part of the US Open, ESPECIALLY considering that these two could've met in the final) but here it finally is.  
> I hope you enjoyed it and it would mean a lot to me if you'd left your opinion in the comments.  
> In the upcoming chapter, I want to make Andy show up at a Nadal-family-meeting, let's see how that goes, hehe


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the official Wimbledon dinner for all the important people and those who claimed to call themselves amongst these went by in a rush: it was easier than Andy would have thought to enjoy the time around his best friends.  
If he ignored the itching feeling in his chest whenever Rafa sent a smile in his direction, it actually felt pretty normal.  
He was glad when he arrived home without further questioning by Roger, though.

And when the next day came, he did not have that much time to think about the Spaniard anyway.  
Rafa would play John Millman and he’d play Alexander Bublik. A task he was sure he’d manage and as expected, he won the match easily with a 6:1, 6:4, 6:2.  
From what he heard from his coaches, Rafa had dealt with his opponent equally masterful.  
Andy did not see the Majorcan the whole day and didn’t hear from him either, the interviews and chattering with other players he hadn’t seen in a while keeping him busy.  
There was a reason why Wimbledon was his favourite tournament to play and that was the crowd.  
None other place he felt this incredible support of the Brits and the first days of playing in Britain after spending months all over the world were always super special.  
He ran into Novak who had another day off shortly before his match but when he saw the smirk playing around the corners of the Serb’s mouth, he just rolled his eyes at his friend and walked away into the opposite direction.  
“You cannot run away from it forever!” the player that was older by just a few days called after him but Andy just raised the finger at the Serb.  
It was after his post-match physio session when he changed in one of the locker rooms that he collided with someone while stepping out of the attached showers, just a towel loosely wrapped around his body.  
“Uy,” the other person said, followed by a, “I not hurt you, no?”  
Andy, rubbing the part of his chin that Rafa’s nose collided with, shook his head firmly and cracked a smile.  
“Are you already trying to get me out of the tournament?”  
“Of course no! Was accident, sí?” the Spaniard replied, a little out of breath. Rafa had apparently already changed into a dark pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt, the first two buttons popped open and revealing some smooth, tanned skin.  
“I was just joking, Rafa. Don’t worry.”  
The Majorcan blushed adorably – wait _what_ – and Andy nervously shifted from one foot to the other.  
“Are you going somewhere?” he eventually asked to break the silence and forced himself to tear his gaze away from that bit of chest hair the slightly opened button-down was revealing.  
Rafa seemed startled for a moment, “How you know?”  
Andy shrugged his shoulders, “You look nice. Not like you’re going home.”  
A wide smile appeared on Rafa’s face and Andy could not fight against the tugging of the corner of his mouth either.  
“Actually, I go see my family. Toni has rented house in London for the tournament and we all come.”  
“That’s nice,” Andy replied and felt a sudden pang of jealousy at the thought of Rafa spending time with those he loved.  
The Spaniard nodded, “Sí. We not see each other often, no? Well, they all here for tournament but when I train, they stay home in Manacor.”  
Andy nodded, “It’s always great to meet up with the whole family after a while. I hope you’ll have fun.”  
“Yeah…” Rafa said and turned around, ready to leave the locker room. But shortly after he was out of sight, he popped in again, nervously leaning against the frame.  
“Forgot something?”  
The Majorcan nodded slowly.  
“Your bag or something? I haven’t seen anything here, sorry.”  
This time, Rafa shook his head and made a step into the room. Then, he awkwardly scratched his head and looked at the Scot.  
“I not forget tennis things, I forget to ask something.”  
“What is it, then?” Andy asked.  
“Will you, no lo sé, come with me? To family?”  
Andy felt like he’d have to sit down and lowered himself onto a bench, looking up at Rafa with a frown.  
“You want me to join you for the Nadal family dinner?”  
Rafa nodded and nervously played with his fingers, “I understand if you no want, Andy. But we have day off tomorrow, no?”  
“No!” Andy replied and Rafa’s eyes widened, “You not want to come?”  
Andy shook his head, “No, I mean, no, I don’t want to not come.”  
“Qué?” Rafa asked in confusion, doubt clouding his dark eyes.  
Andy sighed, “I’d like to come with you. But Rafa… You still haven’t told your family that we are not actually in a relationship, right?”  
Rafa bit his bottom lip sheepishly, “I just not can, Andy… You no see Maribel’s face when she found out, no?”  
Yes, Andy understood it very well. He had himself considered to lie to Kim for the sake of giving her the impression that he had finally found someone he was happy with.  
But his mother and brother knew, of course, for he would have never been able to fake something around them and since they were much more in the focus of the press – especially Jamie, being a player himself – he had had to tell them the truth.  
So yes, in a way he understood Rafa. And still, he just couldn’t bring himself to feel comfortable with the idea of the Spaniard’s family not knowing of the true nature of their relationship. Apart from Toni and Carlos Moya, of course.  
Therefore, Andy let out a sigh and tightened the towel around his hips.  
“I understand why you couldn’t tell your sister and the rest of your family the truth, Rafa. But those things always come to light in the end, don’t they?”  
Rafa tilted his head, “I will find solution, no? And till then, you protect me?”  
There was a short period of silence until Andy turned around to grab his clothes. It was more spoken into his locker when he answered, “You know I’ll always protect you, Rafa.”

If Andy expected a tense atmosphere at the dinner, then he was mistaken.  
The little house that Rafa’s driver parked in front of an hour and a half later was quite unspectacular, inconspicuous even.  
A two-story semi-detached cottage in one of London’s calmer areas, far away from the high society streets Andy had expected. It was already dark outside when they arrived and the warm lights shining through the curtains of the ground floor promised a cosiness.  
“Press never comes here, no? Other half of house is of Toni’s friend and my family always stays here for Wimbledon,” Rafa had explained when he had seen Andy’s surprised face.  
“I like it,” Andy had replied while they walked across the front yard and Rafa had smiled contently.

„There you are!” the front door was pulled open and revealed Rafa’s mother Ana María, a jug in one hand and tray in the other.  
The Spaniard climbed the few steps that led indoors with ease and hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek.  
When Andy reached out a hand and said, “Good evening, mam!”, she pulled him into a hug as well.  
“Ana, please. I not want to feel too old, sí?”  
“Great! And I bet you’re not a day older than – what- 30?” Andy said and Ana María let out a welcoming laugh. When her face was serious again, the looked at the Scot and tilted her head in a way he had seen Rafa doing it lots of times.  
“Is nice to finally have you here.”  
“The pleasure’s on my side,” Andy replied politely and caught Rafa smiling at the scene from the corner of his eye.  
“Then come inside, no? Rafa, todo el mundo está esperando! Tus primos están emocionados de conocerte.”  
What followed was further fast talking back by Rafa in Spanish which Andy didn’t catch a single word of. Ana María guided them through a nicely decorated corridor into the living room with an attached open kitchen.  
The moment they stepped into the room, the Spanish chattering and laughing inside died immideately. For a second, Andy was afraid of what they might have to face but the tension was gone when a dark haired little boy ran towards them from the end of the room and flung his arms around Rafa’s legs.  
The Spaniard gently played with the boys locks and then took him up into his arms.  
Rafa greeted the boy in Spanish but the affectionate tone was enough to make Andy smile. He spotted another kid, a little girl around 4, sheepishly peeking at them from behind a man that the Scot identified as Rafa’s cousin.  
“Is Joaquín, the son of Juan Pablo,” Rafa explained and pointed at his cousin. Then, his gaze wandered over the other people in the room, “You know Maribel and Toni, this is my uncle Miguel and my aunt Sofia. And Fernando, anonother cousin. La niñita is Mía.”  
Another couple that was sitting on a couch was introduced by Rafa as Pablo and Elaine, friends of the family.  
“And this is Andy,” Rafa eventually said and smiled sheepishly.  
“Tu amigo?” Miguel asked and Rafa shot back, “mi novio” faster than some hit their serves.  
“Boyfriend, yeah,” Andy jumped in and was surprised by himself when he took the Spaniard’s hands in his without even thinking about it further. Rafa grinned from ear to ear and Pablo let out a low chuckle, “Of course, Rafa. Just a joke, no?”  
“Is better if we speak English, sí? Andy sucks at Spanish.”  
“Ey! My Spanish is great.”  
Rafa lifted an eyebrow, “Really?”  
The heavy rolling of the “R”-sound sent a shiver down the Scot’s spine.  
“Last time I check, you not even can order food in Spanish restaurant.”  
“Well, maybe because you don’t take me there often enough to practise.”  
Rafa bit his lip subconciously, “We then change that, no?”  
“Not during the tournament. When you cooked for me the other day, I gained an extra 5 pounds, remember?”  
Rafa chuckled, “Better for me then.”  
“Dios, you two are so in love, it’s disgusting,” Maribel called with a wide grin on her pretty face and Andy was snapped out of whatever illusion he had given in to. He swallowed.  
Rafa seemed to sense his sudden discomfort and placed a hand on the small of his back, softly pushing him towards the large wooden table some of the guests had already taken place around.  
“Everyone sit down! Appetizer is ready!” Ana María called and one of Rafa’s cousins helped her at carrying the delicious looking puff pastries.  
“Oh my God,” Andy let out when he took the first bite, making a sound that probably resembled a moan, “this tastes amazing.”  
“Thanks, querido,” Ana María smiled at him.  
“Now you know why I you like my cooking, no?”, Rafa said and once again, Andy felt an itch in his chest when the Majorcan grinned at him. The only thing he could do was nod.

The next hour went by in a rush, with Maribel telling stories that made her mother cringe and Andy bend over in laughter, Manacor gossip being exchanged and children being comforted. The Scot was faszinated by the fact that apart from a short “Great match today!” no one asked Rafa about tennis or the tournament, giving room to the other members of the family and their experiences.  
After Maribel had finished another story about her high school life that had made Andy’s eyes tear up due to the laughter that shook his body, the topic somehow changed to how Rafa and him had met as teenagers.  
“Well, Rafa was always that talented kid from Spain with a funny accent that worked out much harder then the rest of us,” Andy explained, “when all the others would make their way into the city to get drunk or eat some crappy food the coaches would confiscate, Rafa’s always hit some extra balls on court.”  
Maribel rolled her eyes at her brother and playfully hit his shoulder, “Seems like you had no fun back in the days.”  
“You not win titles with only fun, no? Takes hard work and dedication”, Rafa replied and shrugged his shoulders.  
“And I do had fun! I remember that Andy always tells jokes. Really bad jokes!”  
“Come on, Rafa, my jokes are great.”  
The Spaniard shook his head and sent his locks flying, “Was terrible, Andy.”  
“You always laughed at them!”  
“Was sympathy, no? So you not feel bad.”  
Andy snorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest, shooting the Majorcan a dark look.  
“Tell us some of your jokes, then!“ Sofia demanded and everyone joined in with approving mumbling.  
Andy thought for a while and then grinned to himself, remembering some of the incredibly terrible puns he used to tell the other young players on the tour.  
“Where do you imprison a skeleton?” he asked and everyone looked at him expectantly.  
“In a rib cage!”  
“…Wow,” Maribel eventually said after a few seconds of silence, “that _was_ terrible.”  
“I’ve got another one!” Andy claimed and smirked, “Why are there fences around a graveyard? Because people are dying to get in!”  
“I don’t understand…” Ana María said and frowned at the Scot.  
“Well, yeah… Probably because of the langue barrier, mh. I’ve got one left, though!”  
Once again, everyone awaited his joke expectantly.   
“When I get naked in the bathroom, the shower usually gets turned on.”  
And again, there was stunned silence, until Rafa let out a high-pitched giggle and everyone’s gaze turned to the French Open winner.  
“You can’t be serious, Rafa,” Andy whispered and shook his head in shock.  
“Like I say, sympathy, no?”  
Rafa continued to tell the others of how the other players on tour in their teenage years would actually bet on his bad puns and make drinking games out of it; those who did laugh would have to take a shot.  
In the meantime, Andy playfully hid his face away against Rafa’s shoulder, taking in the scent of the Spaniard.  
And with the Majorcan taking about their youth and the time Andy had visited him to train, he discovered that Rafa’s scent had changed over the years.  
When he was 17, the dominating smell had been the sand of Rafa’s favourite tennis court. It had stuck to his skin, disappeared in his long locks and never properly washed away when he stepped out of a shower. Now Rafa smelled of a cologne, so heavy and full that it underlined all of his features perfectly. While the Majorcan had already been one of the fittest when they were 16, his physical appearance now was actually overwhelming.  
When Andy drew in another breath, he realised that there was more to it, though. Something so purely Rafa, a scent like the absorption of rays of sunlight on one’s skin. It imbued Andy’s senses completely.

“But in end, everyone still like Andy, no? Only problem was guys think beating Andy is easy because he joke so much. No one think he could train hard, no?”  
Andy grinned against Rafa’s skin and then withdrew a little to look at the Spaniard.  
“Well, it’s a pity then that I couldn’t fool you,” he said and placed a quick kiss against the corner of Rafa’s mouth.  
It was only a few seconds later that he realised that each and every sound in the room had died done, even the kids had suddenly shut up their babbling and whining.  
Looking around, Andy saw that everyone’s gazes were fixed on Rafa and the way the Majorcan still stared at him in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Andy has now met Rafa's family and there are quite a lot ups and downs for him here.  
> And the evening definetely isn't over yet!  
> You might have noticed that no one seems surprised by the fact that Rafa came home with a boyfriend (Andy obviously hasn't thought about that yet but that might change in the following chapter ;) )  
> As always, thanks for reading this and your comments would be the best motivation you could give to me.


	6. Chapter 6

Andy felt panic washing over him. He didn’t mean to put Rafa in a situation like that, it was probably already hard enough for the Spaniard to lie to his family without Andy entering his personal space and comfort zone like that.   
Wasn’t that just what Roger meant when he had tried to talk some sense in him?  
And Andy had promised not to make things awkward for Rafa just because of this _thing_ in the Scot’s chest, this glowing spark underneath his rib cage that lit up again and again whenever Rafa beamed at him. That glimmer that he would have to extinguish as soon as possible.  
So the Scot brought some distance between them and Rafa tried to cover up the scene by placing a hand on Andy’s arm, his finger’s burning hot on the younger man’s skin, even through the fabric of his shirt.   
There was a pleading in Rafa’s eyes when their gazes met but Andy did not know what to make out of that.   
“Rafa…” Maribel eventually said and reached out to brush her finger’s over her brother’s palm, “We your family, no? We don’t judge you, sabes que?”  
Andy saw that the tips of Rafa’s ears grew red and he just really wanted to punch himself for doing this to the Majorcan.   
“María is right, Rafael,” Ana María nodded assuring and looked at her son sympathetically.   
Apparently, the rest of Rafa’s family felt the need to express their support as well and comforting mumbling arose. The Spaniard’s gaze was fixed on the table through all of it.   
“We all happy that you finally find someone, sí? We worry for so long and you happy now, no? Is all that counts.”   
Rafa’s eyes went wide at that and he drew in a sharp breath, his fingers nervously tabbing the table top in a way Andy had seen him coping with the pressure before a match.   
He thought of taking Rafa’s hand in his again, interlocking their fingers and gently caressing his thumb, but it probably wasn’t the place nor the time so Andy kept his hands to himself, feeling the tension tightening his muscles.   
“Wanna go outside for a moment? I’d do good with some fresh air,” Andy eventually whispered and felt the grateful gazes of Rafa’s mother and sister.   
The Spaniard inhaled deeply but then nodded and got up at the same time.   
“Garden is very nice, no?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper and the pleading still sparkling in his dark eyes. So Andy helped the Spaniard with his chair and sent a reassuring glance in Ana María’s direction.   
The Scot followed the older man through the living room into the back part of the house where French doors led outside, the dark immediately swallowing them up when they set a foot outside. London wasn’t exactly famous for its warm summer nights but today, there was a gentle breeze curling around their bodies. Andy followed Rafa in silence when the Spaniard crossed the dark garden and somehow made out a porch swing.   
They sat down side by side, Rafa with his legs crossed while his torso was softly swaying back and forth when Andy set them in motion with his feet.   
His breathing was still a little too audible, his inhalations a little too deep and his exhalations slightly too shaky, so Andy did not say anything and waited until he felt Rafa becoming calmer, giving the Spaniard a breathing rhythm by swinging _back_ and _forth_ , _back_ and _forth_.    
He was glad that it was Rafa that eventually broke the silence, “Am sorry, Andy.”  
“Don’t…” the Scot started but Rafa let out a sniff that shut him up.  
“Am sorry that I bring you here. Is little too much for you, no? Too much acting for you. Is okay with press but this is intimate, no? I understand it is too much,” Rafa said, too fast for his brain to catch up so his accent was heavy again, the words weighty on his tongue.   
Andy had leaned back against the backrest of the swing, his head propped up on the knuckles of his hand.   
“I like your family, Rafa. You know that. I’m glad that you brought me here. It’s nice to catch up with those that have supported you your whole life.”   
Rafa shifted and sat down in a way that looked far from comfortable for Andy and the Scot wondered if the Majorcan knew that relaxing wasn’t a weakness. Or if it was, whether Rafa knew he was allowed to show some.   
“I kill them,” Rafa breathed out after another moment of silence between them.   
“What?” Andy asked and felt his chest tighten at the sight of the Spaniard.   
“My family. I will kill them no? If we ‘break up’. Will kill my mum.”  
Andy wasn’t sure if Rafa was crying. It was too fucking dark to make out anything but Rafa’s shoulders were shaking and his breath was coming irregular again and it pretty damn well _tore apart_ Andy’s insides.   
And what could he say to make it any better? From what he had experienced this evening, Rafa’s family was so incredibly happy for the Spaniard that it would indeed break their hearts to see Rafa alone again.   
It broke Andy’s too, knowing that Rafa was actually still alone, just like he was.  
“You’ll find someone, Rafa,” he said into the dark, vaguely guessing that the Spaniard was watching him.  
Rafa let out a snort.  
“What?”  
“Nada.”  
Andy sighed, suddenly finding it very unsettling that he could not make out the Majorcan’s eyes in the dark, shadows hiding them away whilst he was sure that Rafa could see him, the dim light coming from inside the house illuminating his face softly.   
“Have you ever brought someone home? Apart from Xisca, I mean? Your family… I don’t know, have you?”   
“No,” the words were only mumbled, as if Rafa would have actually preferred not to let Andy hear them because they were so much heavier than they seem.   
They carried the story of Rafa’s life and when the events of the evening came to his mind again, everything somehow fell into place. That his family was so worried about him, that he wanted to do the interview for the LGBTQ-magazine, that Maribel and his mother weren’t surprised in the slightest when he brought home a man, that he kept his private life to himself.  
“R-Rafa, are you gay?”   
Andy could basically hear his own heart beating in his chest when he waited for the Spaniard’s response.   
“I honestly not know, Andy.”   
He could hear how much willpower it cost Rafa to speak those words out loud and this time, he did not hold back and instead reached out to entangle their pinky fingers. It makes him think of those vows he made as a child, promising to keep a secret.  
He did not want to rush Rafa so he kept quiet until the Majorcan started to speak again.  
“Is weird, no? That I not know?”  
“It’s definitely not, Rafa.”  
“Is not?” Andy did not have to see Rafa to know that his eyes widened. Andy almost let out a chuckle, now fully taking his hand in his.  
“No, of course not. Sexuality isn’t a label you can put on yourself. It isn’t a fact. It might even change over the time.”  
“Sí…”  
“So you’ve never… you know… tried anything?”   
Right then, he was glad that he couldn’t see Rafa’s face properly. It made it easier to just pretend that he wasn’t looking at the fucking hottest human being on tour whilst asking that question.  
“Depends,” Rafa answered with a hoarse voice.  
“On what?”  
“If is about sex or not.”   
_That’s it_ , Andy thought, _that’s it, I should just drop this whole fucking subject and ask Rafa normal questions, like about his newest diet or which racket he uses.  
_ But if he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that he was far too curious about the answer Rafa might give.   
“There was boy, when I was 18. Not tennis player, he plays football, no? We meet in Manacor and we play together and when we go shower, he kiss me. Just do. I was surprise and he says he is sorry. But then he kiss me again and was nice, no? Not like I imagine kissing, I not feel something but it was nice still.”  
Andy swallowed. Hard. Because now he was thinking of an 18 years old Rafa in one of the shitty locker rooms in Manacor, his body already well defined and suntanned, his curls a little longer, his hair even wilder.   
And it was a strange thought that he had already known Rafa back then. He had maybe even met the Majorcan a few hours later on a court, without having the slightest idea that he had just kissed someone for the first time.   
It made him realize that the time he had known Rafa was actually longer than the time he hadn’t. It felt like a lifetime.  
“I see him again, few times. But we not do kissing again. He found boyfriend, soon.”   
“I’m sorry for that,” Andy said and it was more of a reflex because _no,_ actually he _didn’t.  
_ He thought he’d seen Rafa grin.  
“No one else…?”   
Rafa chuckled softly, “There was Xisca.”   
“Xisca? I thought you two were fake?”  
“Not like you think. Xisca is my best friend, no? We were curious. People always say man and woman not can be friends, sí? So one time, we want to try.”   
“The sex thing?” Andy asked and could not hold back his surprise.  
“Sí,” Rafa said, “but when we kiss, feels very weird, no? Like I kiss Maribel,” Rafa shivered, “and then Xisca ask if I am gay…” Rafa’s voice trailed off and he spoke quietly when he started again, “and I say I don’t know. Because I not think about it.”  
“About your sexuality, you mean?”  
Rafa nodded, “Sí. For long time, I only think about tennis. Tennis all the time, no? No time for such things. So Xisca says maybe I am not interested in sex. But I don’t know. Sometimes I think am gay, sometimes not interested at all, no?”  
Rafa fell quiet after that and Andy’s chest felt like it was about to burst due to the adoration he held for Rafa for telling him this.   
“Don’t worry too much about that, Rafa.”  
“Is not weird for you?”  
“Why would it?”  
Rafa shrugged his shoulders and since Andy’s body was apparently running on instincts anyway, he just gave in and pulled the Spaniard into hug, their warm chests brought together.   
“Thank you, Andy. That I can tell you things.”  
Andy smiled and maybe it was Rafa’s scent or the image the Spaniard had burned into his eyelids by telling him of the shower scene or just the fact that Rafa was so incredibly close and so incredibly warm that made him relax and press a soft kiss to Rafa’s forehead, “We are friends, aren’t we? We can tell each other things.”  
Rafa stiffened in his embrace and _fuck_ , Andy thought, maybe he just crossed a line by coming that close to the Spaniard again but then he felt Rafa straightening up and the Majorcan’s lips against his own forehead.  
“Is okay for friends, no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been some wishes for more Rafa angst and I tried my best with this. I think it is really important for them to talk more about their feelings and Rafa being insecure about his sexuality and not being able to label himself just really suits him in my opinion.   
> Once again, Andy does not seem to catch the hints Rafa is leaving but who could really blame him if Rafa is taking away his common sense? ;)  
> I'll definitely explore Rafa's insecurity and his quirks further (can anyone please tell me if there is a term that makes his many 'rituals' sound more serious? I really dislike the work 'quirk' because everyone seems to use it by now and I think it is rather a mental condition when it comes to Rafa) because I guess that's a huge part of being with him.
> 
> I hope you liked this and please leave your opinion in the comments. :)  
> Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

They had sat in that embrace for another 10 minutes and even when they had walked back in, Andy had still felt a tingling feeling on his forehead where Rafa’s lips had touched his skin.  
Rafa had said almost nothing for the rest of the evening but it had been rather like the calm _after_ a storm, comforting, relieved and  careful.  
Andy had caught a few grateful glances from the Spaniard’s mother and sister and it had been late when Andy had waved everyone good bye and headed back into his flat.  
Rafa had decided to stay at his family’s house, given that they’d have a day off the next day.  
  
The second day of the first week went by unspectacularly, apart from the few calls Andy exchanged with Kim who would arrive with her girlfriend on Wednesday for his match against Dustin Brown (always a fun guy to play).  
He spent the first half of the day hitting some easy balls and then gave his muscles a rest by curling up on his couch, watching Novak’s match that already ended after two sets due to his oponent giving up. After that, he found himself being glad for the guys that prepared his food during Grand Slams since his fridge was almost empty. Which lead to him thinking of the meal Rafa had cooked for him. Which made him think of Rafa. Who made him think of the way the Spaniard’s lips had felt against his forehead, light as a feather and soft as freshly cut grass under one’s bare feet.  
Actually, he was thinking about the Majorcan all the fucking time, constantly failing at trying to avoid the topic and concentrate on the tournament that was only about to start for him properly.  
It didn’t really help when Rafa texted him in the afternoon, asking him if he wanted to join the Majorcan’s family in his box for his match since they were both playing on Centre Court and Rafa’s match would start right after the end of Andy’s.  
  
**_Only if you win, of course. Not want sad Andy Murray in my box, no?_**  
  
Rafa messaged and Andy sighed.  
Then he typed in,  
**Especially then I’ll watch your match** _.  
_  
Rafa did not reply for a few minutes and the Brit felt himself growing more and more nervous with every second that passed by until his phone finally buzzed.  
  
_**Will give my best for you only then, mi alma*.**_  
  
Andy stared at his screen for a few moments, forgetting to blink until his eyes watered up painfully.  
Well, this was definetely new. And while the nickname Rafa had given him (he was sure that it was meant more as a joke, but still) it was rather the fact that he would sit in Rafa’s box to support him that sent his heart flying.  
It was not like they had never been to the other one’s matches or never sat in the player’s box but this was obviously different, mainly because everyone would think it was only natural for Andy to be there with Rafa’s family because he was Rafa’s _boyfriend_.  
And was Rafa flirting with him?  
No, no way. He was joking. He surely was.  
And yet, Andy could not resist the temptation;  
  
**Watch out that you focus on the ball and not on my pretty face** __ **.**  
  
This time, the reply came in almost immediately.  
  
**I have practise.**

  
The next day came all too soon and the night ended way too early for Andy, so he was just glad that he had another few hours until his match to get his energy level up.  
His tight schedule would not allow him to meet Kim and Hannah before his match but there would be plenty of time afterwards and he was already looking forward to it.  
With all the Rafa-stuff happening during those past days, he was missing her terribly and he just really needed someone he could talk to about all of this.  
Someone that wasn’t Nole (who did not help with his smirks and ambigous remarks) or Roger (who did not help either).  
But Andy knew that he could count on Kim and the mutual understanding they had always had for each other, even more so after their break up when hurt feelings and disappointments weren’t part of their (now platonic) relationship anymore.  
They had agreed that it would probably be the best if she wasn’t sitting in his box, though.

Andy was on his way through the tunnels of Wimbledon’s center court when he ran into Novak once again. When he spotted the Serb’s face, he was sure that is wasn’t a coincidence, though.  
“What is it that you want?” Andy asked and Novak pushed him into a small room that was apparently for cleaning purposes and did not have a window.  
The other player that was just a few centimeters shorter than Andy stared at the Brit as if he was out of his mind.  
“Was that Kim that I just spotted amongst your crowd?!”  
Andy frowned and shrugged his shoulders, “Possibly, I invited her for the tournament.”  
Novak’s eyes widened and he gave the Brit a punch to the chest.  
“You did _what_?”  
“Ouch! What the fuck Nole, that actually hurt.”  
Novak got up on his tiptoes and came theateningly close.  
“Oh _really_? Well, I have bad news for you then. Someone is going to be very hurt, too.”  
Andy did not get a single word of what his friend was saying and he nervously glanced at the watch on his wrist.  
“Someone?”  
“You-…” Novak started but then shook his head in disbelief, “you are unbelievable. Both of you!”  
“Fine, are you done yet? There’s a match I have to play.”  
 Andy felt trapped in the small room and felt relief when Nole just shot him another angry glance and then stepped aside to let him out.  
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” the Serb called after him when Andy fastened his steps, “and if you see Roger, tell him I’m looking for him, you bonehead.”  
“Whatever…” Andy mumbled and didn’t look mad. Was Nole totally out of his mind now? Possibly. Couldn’t he talk like a normal person and not in riddles just once? Probably not.  
Which wasn’t really Andy’s problem right now, was it?  
  
The Scot had forgotten about all of this once the match started.  
At first, Dustin and him could bring through their serves relatively easy but when it was Andy’s time to receive at 4:3, he could break due to a double fault of the German.  
He won the first set 6:3 and the second 6:2.  
Only then, he kept an eye out for Kim and her girlfriend but he couldn’t find her in the crowd. Instead, he focused on his family and coaches in his box.  
He knew that he would win this match before the third and final set had even started but managed to keep his head down and focused on the play.  
But there wasn’t much that could go wrong anymore and he closed the set 6:2 again.  
The Court was emptying until the next match which was going to be Rafa’s and only then, he spotted his ex-girlfriend, waving at her and implying that they should come down while he himself climbed the seats and met them halfway.  
Before he could say anything, Kim pulled him into a tight hug and he felt calmer instantly.  
“Thank you so much for coming here. Both of you!” he added and greeted Hannah with a hug as well.  
“When Kim told me about the mess you made we had no other choice than cleaning it up,” the tall brown haired women with eyes just as dark answered with a grin.  
Andy shot Kim a glance, “What exactly did you tell her?”  
His ex-girlfriend smiled non-guiltily and shrugged her shoulders, “That we’ll have to play Cupid for a while.”  
“Oh dear God,” Andy let out a deep sigh and sat down on a seat, the two girls following his example.  
He then told them about what had happened during the last days, how it had all started with this stupid drinking game and the picture the press had of him snogging Rafa and how it had all evolved from here.  
He did not tell them about what the Spaniard had revealed to him yesterday evening for it was one of the Majorcan’s personal matters and not his to tell.  
However, when he finished, Kim looked at him with a serious expression on her face.  
“I’m sorry, Andy, I really am.”  
“Yeah, me too,” he said, his throat dry and a dull headache forming in his head.  
The Centre Court was starting to fill up again and they continued their talk on Andy’s way to the player’s box where they met Toni, Carlos and a few other members of Rafa’s family that had already shown up.  
Maribel was the first to approach them and a smile was playing on her lips when she hugged Kim.  
“Wow, I haven’t seen you for so long! I’m happy that you can finally come to Andy’s matches again, now that he is in a relationship. The Yellow Press would have gone crazy about you being here if he wasn’t, right?” Maribel arcticulated way too fast and Kim shot Andy a surprised gaze. Just maybe he had forgotten to tell her that Rafa’s family was super excited about his relationship to their Rafa.  
Kim cleared her throat softly, “Yes, you’re right. It’s great to see you again, Maribel.”  
She then introduced her girlfriend and the three of them exchanged some words while Andy was staring down on the Court, waiting for Rafa to show up.  
Due to the masses that were still struggling to find their correct seats, no one had spotted him with the Nadal family yet but once the chaos would have died down, they sure would and he felt his heartbeat fasten at the thought.  
“Andy?” Kim called and from the tone of her voice he guessed that she had already said his name before.  
“Yeah?”  
“Hannah and I will have to go now, ok? We want to visit some friends in Camden but we’ll be here for your next match.”  
He nodded absently, far too busy staring down at the entrance through which Rafa would come in any second.  
Kim let out a soft laugh and then pulled him down into a tight hug.  
Andy felt himself relaxing in her arms and he wrapped his around her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.  
“Really, thank you so much for coming here. I’m thinking of Rafa all the damn time,” he whispered into her hear, “I think… I think I might be in love with him.”  
It was then that his gaze wandered over her shoulder down to the players’ bench and spotted Rafa standing there, star-struck and frozen in his movements, staring up at him and Kim with his slack-jawed and eyes burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** mi alma ~ my soul  
> I know that it has been a while but thanks for sticking with me.  
> As always, if you have any wishes, remarks or just want to motivate me to keep this fanfic up, then leave a comment (and maybe kudos) <3  
> Oh and I almost forgot something important!  
> As you might have realized, I sticked to the Wimbledon schedule in 2017 and I want to know whether you'd prefer a Roger-win or one of these two winning. Tell me in the comments!  
> (Of course you'll have to wait until the end to find that out, though, but I'll definetely consider your opinion).


	8. Chapter 8

Rafa's gaze was so intense that it almost physically hurt Andy and it pained him to his bones that he wasn't able to just go down there and shake the Spaniard's tall frame.  
But what would he tell him, anyway?  
What was Andy supposed to say?  
He constantly felt like he wasn't catching up on what was actually happening and when his lips parted, without actually intending to say anything out loud, Rafa already turned his back on him.  
Despite the big distance between Rafa's bench and the box, Andy could make out the tension in his muscular shoulders and it didn't escape his notice how the Majorcan rearranged his bottles and rackets more often than usual, nervously, but with fierce, making sure that everything was kept in place.  
With a big lump forming in his throat, Andy sat down with Rafa's family and tried to smile through some of Maribel's jokes but he did not manage to relax completely.  
Not with the way that the Spaniard didn't spare his box a single glance throughout the first set, despite his usual need to seek confirmation in his uncle's knowing eyes.  
At no point during the set, Andy had to worry about Rafa's play and halfway through the second, the tension in the Majorcan's body seemed to ease away at least somewhat.  
The Brit knew very well that Wimbledon wasn't one of Rafa's favourite tournaments to play, which only added to his admiration when he watched the Spaniard play, going after points that others would have let slip to save some energy, reading the opponent in a way that only the Majorcan - and maybe Roger - was able to.  
Andy wondered whether it was on instinct, that Rafa always seemed to know when and where to strike, to slowly make the other player brittle, to hit him where it hurt the most, again and again and _again_.  
And Andy couldn't help wondering how it would feel to have the anger that was undoubtedly showing the Spaniard's play directed at himself.  
He still felt the Majorcan's burning glances on his skin, how Rafa had stared up at him without something close to.... yeah, what?  
If he didn't know any better, Andy would have gone for....  
But... That wasn't possible.  
Rafa wasn't jealous, was he? And of what?  
No, Andy had to be making things up.  
His exhausted _brain_ had to make things up, or that part of his stomach that felt funny whenever that small smile was tugging on the corners of Rafa's lips, lately.  
God, was he screwed...  
  
"Rafa!"  
Andy was jogging down the hallway, trying to catch up with the Spaniard who was apparently on his way to take a shower, his bandana hanging loose around his neck. At first, it seemed like the Majorcan hadn't heard him but when Andy caught up with him and Rafa kept his gaze low still, Andy felt his cheeks flushing.  
"Rafa, are we... are we okay? Did something happen?"  
With terror, Andy realized that Rafa might be regretting what he had told him at his family's house, that he had opened up to the Brit in a moment of weakness and now wished that he hadn't done so in the first place.  
But they were friends, after all, weren't they?  
Rafa must be aware that any kind of secrets were safe with Andy, especially what he had revealed to him?  
Andy let out a sigh and shot Rafa a look, frowning at the way the Majorcan was biting on on his bottom lip while strands of sweaty hair fell in his face.  
"Rafa, what's wrong with you?"  
"Wrong with _me_?" Rafa's dark eyes shot up in fury, piercing and boiling and Andy instinctively took a step back.  
He couldn't remember any time that he'd seen the Spaniard like that, at least not offside of a tennis court.  
"You really ask what is wrong with me, Andy?"

The look that Rafa gave him reminded the Brit of his glances during press conferences, when the reporters had the decency to ask questions so stupid any sane person would feel the urge to run their head straight against the next wall.  
But the Majorcan didn't manage to hold the anger up for long and soon, the fire in his eyes died down, being replaced by something that the Brit wasn't able to identify.  
It made Rafa look as if he had just lost his match.  
"Sorry," the Spaniard mumbled, rubbing his eyes with a hand, "everything is really stressful... and tournament not even really start yet, no?"  
All anger was gone and Rafa was sounding exhausted and tired, instead.  
"We've got a day off until our next match... We could watch Roger's and Nole's matches tomorrow? If you're up for it?"  
Rafa frowned and let out a sigh, "I not really feel like going out, Andy."  
"No", Andy chuckled softly and suddenly felt nervous under the Spaniard's attentive gaze, running a hand through his hair, "I meant, you could come over, if you want to. After, you know, your training or something. If you feel like it."

The next day, it was around noon when Andy heard the ringing of his door bell while he was still in the shower.  
He slung a towel around his hips, ran a hand through his still wet and flat hair and then crossed his flat, leaving a wet track behind.  
"Sorry, I 15 minutes-..." the rest of Rafa's sentence got swallowed up, resulting in a somewhat strangled sound when the Spaniard's gaze wandered over Andy's naked chest.  
The Brit flushed in a deep red.  
"Sorry, I've just been to the bathroom and-..." he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and looked down on Rafa, whom he had a few centimeters on.  
"Is fine!" the Majorcan exclaimed but didn't meet Andy's eyes again.  
So he stepped aside and led the older one in.

"Is nice here," Rafa stated after taking a look around Andy's living room, "more personal than hotel room."  
Andy cracked a nervous smile and followed the Spaniard's gaze.  
The interior was kept rather simple, for he was on tour throughout the world for the majority of the year anyway, but he had taken his time to furnish the apartment, adding little details here and there.  
Andy shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the attached kitchen.  
"It's home."  
"I like your home," Rafa said and smiled, one of those bright smiles that evoked that funny feeling in Andy's stomach.  
The Brit turned away from the Majorcan, facing the counters.  
"Well, it's not _home_ home, London isn't Scotland, but it's nice. Want to drink something?"  
But Rafa seemed to ignore his question and by the sound of his steps, he could tell that the other player was following him into the small kitchen.  
"Has to be lonely sometimes, no?"  
Andy stiffened.  
"Sometimes," he eventually replied and turned around. Despite Rafa still standing several meters away, he found himself feeling trapped between his dark eyes and the kitchen counters, his pulse quickening up.  
"You lived with Kim for long, no? Don't you miss it?"  
_Oh_.

Andy tried to read Rafa's face but the other man was guarded, testing the waters, sounding almost casual while doing so.  
And Andy couldn't tell whether the intention behind the Majorcan's question was simply polite interest or something MORE, something that the Brit didn't really dare to think about for too long.  
So Andy turned around once again, opening a cupboard to fetch two glasses.  
"Of course I miss her. As a friend."  
Facing Rafa, he still wasn't able to read the other man.  
"As a friend?" the Spaniard asked, his dark eyes attentive and a little narrowed.  
"As a friend," Andy confirmed and nodded, "but I guess she prefers living with her girlfriend."  
Rafa's eyes widened immediately, disbelief and something else flashing across his face.  
"Yeah, Hannah. Her and Kim were at my match yesterday. You should meet her one day," Andy's eyes were still roaming over Rafa's face, "nice girl."  
"I..." the older one lowered his gaze and drew in his bottom lip, "Sí, okay."  
"So... Water?"

They sat down on Andy's enormous couch after he had switched into a plain shirt and shorts and the Brit witnessed with a thumping heartbeat how Rafa made himself comfortable right next to Andy, even though it would have been much more comfortable if he had spread on the other end of the sofa.  
But now their thighs were touching slightly, at least each time Rafa would reach out to take a sip of his drink, and Andy hurried to turn on the TV in order to have some distraction from the tingling sensation.  
Roger and Dolgopolow were still warming up and they watched in a comfortable silence, reminding Andy of the fact that one of the things he liked most about Rafa was that one didn't have to keep a conversation going all the time, that they could be quiet together without it becoming awkward.  
And thank God Rafa wasn't a babbler like Novak.  
Being with Rafa, enjoying his presence...  
It was nice.

"He's in good shape," Rafa eventually stated once the match had started and Roger was leading the first set, probably just points away from breaking for the first time.  
Andy nodded.  
"Do you think he will win? The tournament, I mean?"  
He turned to face Rafa who was looking right back at him, his head tilted slightly.  
"Would be big surprise, no? But it's Roger... You never know."  
"Right," Andy nodded along in agreement, "how about you? How are you feeling?"  
A shadow ghosted over Rafa's face and Andy turned down the TV's volume without really thinking about it.  
"Wimbledon is not my favourite..." he smiled almost apologetically and shrugged his shoulder, "and my knee isn't best at the moment."  
Andy's gaze dropped and he suddenly felt the very silly urge to reach out and place a hand on the Majorcan's knee.  
As if that would help.  
"I've got my fingers crossed," Andy said and hoped that Rafa knew that he actually did, wishing the Spaniard all the best.  
"Thanks," Rafa grinned, childlike and open, and Andy felt heat creeping up his neck.  
He turned to face the TV again.

Roger played as steady as usual and the first set was rather boring, to be honest. So the both of them weren't exactly disappointed when Dolgopolow had to give up halfway into the second set, ending the match early.

Novak's match was on next and Andy wasn't surprised to find a text from the other player about 30 minutes before the start. It was kind of their thing.  
"Is this Novak?" Rafa asked, knowing of their ritual.  
"Yeah, he says he's nervous."  
The Spaniard chuckled softly, "Nole? Nervous? Cómo?"  
"Because of his elbow, you know. Hey!" With a spontaneous idea popping up on his mind, Andy reached out his phone and switched to camera mode, lifting his free hand to a thumbs up.  
"Smile!"  
He took the picture and sent it to Novak, even though Rafa was looking a little bit startled on it, not even facing the camera.  
"Telling him he doesn't have to be nervous because we're rooting for him," he explained to Rafa and drew a genuine laugh from the Majorcan.  
"Will definitely help, no?"  
"Definitely!"

It was a few minutes later that Andy's phone buzzed again, not with a text message as expected but a twitter notification alert.

_@DjokerNole has tagged you in a picture_

Andy unlocked his phone and opened the app.  
It showed a tweet Novak had posted just second ago, saying;

 ** _@_ DjokerNole** **: nothing to worry about when these two lovebirds are rooting for me ;) #Randy**  
_file attached_

And then the photo Andy had sent to Nole minutes ago.  
Lovebirds?  
He stared at the picture and from the corner of his eye, he spotted that Rafa had taken out his phone as well, as he had probably received the same notification.  
And Andy had to admit that in some fucked up way, they DID look couple-ish in his selfie.  
He himself was grinning into the camera, doing the thumbs up, while Rafa was facing him, not the phone, smiling as well but in a confused way that could indeed be mistaken for... for... adoration?

He couldn't even be angry at Novak for posting the pic while knowing that they actually _weren't_  a couple because...  
Because...  
Fucking hell.

"Novak..." Rafa whispered and Andy wasn't sure if the hitch in his breath was amusement or a trace of panic, so he turned to look at the Spaniard, who was staring back at him. Rafael's dark eyes were big and also a little scared, as Andy could see now.  
"He's helping us holding up the illusion, Rafa."  
The Spaniard didn't even blink, simply held Andy's glance and drew in his bottom lip.  
Andy's gaze dropped.  
And then it happened so fast that he couldn't tell how it happened, because one second he was staring at Rafa's trembling bottom lip and the next he was leaning in to kiss him.  
He closed his eyes and his mind went blank, the feeling of Rafa's lips on his crashing over him like waves rolling to the shore.  
He exhaled flatly through his nose when Rafa returned the kiss, when the Spaniard's hand found its way into Andy's neck and drew him closer.  
He captured Rafa's lips with his and the Majorcan leaned into the kiss.  
Andy tasted Rafa on his tongue, his scent filled his nose and he felt like he was completely taken up by the older one, getting lost in him.  
Rafa leaned back against the cushions and pulled Andy down with him, until their chests were touching, heaving and falling quickly.  
The Spaniard's fingers stroked the skin of Andy's neck and the Brit shivered under the touch, parting his lips slightly to deepen the kiss.  
Rafa exhaled against his mouth, his breath warm and shaky and Andy opened his eyes, blinking down at the Majorcan.  
He was breathing heavily, his chest moving against Rafa's, who was looking up at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips.  
It took Andy's breath away.

"Andy..." Rafa whispered and then his body stiffened, causing the Brit to bring some distance between them and sit up, running a hand through his hair.  
"We... We really shouldn't, no?" Rafa whispered, getting up as well while all Andy was able to do was watch.  
"Is fake relationship, no? We... Dios, Andy, I not can... This is not what you..."  
He didn't finish his sentence and didn't have to, because Andy was feeling sick already, paralyzed while the older one got up and stood in front of the couch, closing his eyes for a second.  
Rafa looked like he wanted to say something but ended up keeping his mouth shut. And then he was out of the room, out of the flat, the sound of the door falling shut echoing in Andy's ears.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... it has been such a long time.  
> BUT I'm planning to post several new chapters throughout the French Open. I'm hyped!  
> And I hope that you're still with me on this.  
> I'm actually heartbroken that we won't get to see Andy but hey, Nole and Rafa, yay!
> 
> Kudos/comment and I'll love you forever!


	9. Chapter 9

Andy felt paralyzed still, even half an hour later, when he was still staring at the door that Rafa had left through.  
He wasn’t sure when things had escalated that quickly, where he had turned the wrong way, but the Spaniard fleeing from him, after Andy had clearly crossed a line he hadn’t realized Rafa had been drawing was the last thing he wanted.  
And he remembered what he had told Roger, when the Swiss had tried to talk some sense into him.  
Roger had been worried about Rafa and his feelings and the Scot had brushed it off, not understanding what Roger had been trying to prevent from happening.  
And now he had indeed fucked it up, fucked it up so hard that Rafa had had to escape from him.  
Him, that had just wanted to protect the Majorcan.  
Who would have thought that Roger had been right, wanting to protect Rafa from _Andy_?  
  
The Brit hid his face away in his palms, breathing flatly through his mouth while the pain in his stomach was threatening to wash over him and pull him in.  
What had he done?  
He shouldn’t have kissed Rafa.  
He had already crossed that line by placing a kiss against the corner of the Spaniard’s mouth at the Nadal family dinner but this, this was something entirely different, something so much _worse_.  
He had basically forced himself on Rafa, like a horny teenager that couldn’t control himself.  
And Andy suddenly remembered what he had told the kid from the LGBT magazine about what he liked the most about the Majorcan.  
_Rafa is just so very nice. He gives people the impression of being interesting and worthy._ _He treats everyone with kindness._

And Andy should have _known_.  
He of all people should have known that Rafa was way too polite to shove him back, to brush him off and call Andy out on his bullshit.  
No, Rafa hadn’t told him to fuck off, like any other sane person would have done. Instead, Rafa had looked up at him with those scared eyes, which made it so much worse.  
Andy felt sick.  
Really sick.  
  
Rafa had said it himself, hadn’t he _? Is fake relationship_.  
Nothing more and nothing less. They were friends, fucking hell, Andy was Rafa’s _friend_ that had committed to protecting the Spaniard from the press. He didn’t have the bloody right to shove himself on Rafa. Just because Andy… simply because… there was this… thing… in his chest whenever he thought of the older one, he had absolutely no right.  
  
So what if he had destroyed their friendship by being so incredibly stupid to believe that Rafa might eventually feel what he himself felt?  
This was Rafael Nadal, after all, _a 10 out of 10,_ like Nole had phrased it. The man Andy might-maybe-possibly-if-one-squinted-an-eye had been crushing on since they were fucking teenagers.  
How had he not seen it before?

Andy jumped when his phone rang and considered not answering it but the person at the other end of the line wasn’t to blame for his misery, so he picked it up.  
  
“Liked my post?”  
_Novak_.  
Andy let out a not-as-silent-as-intended groan.  
“Hey, it was cute, wasn’t it?” Nole pouted, reading Andy’s reaction the wrong way.  
“Incredibly so,” Andy answered deadpan, staring into space.  
“You alright, wanker?”  
When Andy didn’t answer, worry rose in the Serb’s tone.  
“Wanna tell me what happened?”  
As much as Novak got on Andy’s nerves from time to time, the Scot felt like he needed a friend right now.  
“Why are you even calling me? Aren’t you supposed to play a match right now?”  
“Didn’t you watch it?” Novak sounded seriously offended, “he had to give up.”  
“Lucky you,” Andy answered and could basically see Nole shrugging his shoulders. He then continued to stare into space, chewing on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.  
“Can I see you?” he eventually asked and took the Serb by surprise.  
“See me? Now?”  
“Yeah. Are you at the hotel?”

 

“So you kissed Rafa and then Rafa ran away?” Novak asked, about an hour later when Andy had arrived at the players’ hotel, hiding away in the bedroom of the Serb’s suite that separated them from the rest of Nole’s family.  
His friend’s eyes were widened by disbelief and Andy kept kicking a box with tennis balls that was standing on the ground.  
“Yeah, that’s about what happened.”  
“Why?!” Novak asked while putting on a comfortable looking sweater that had his logo on it.  
“Why what?” Andy responded, staring at his friend with a frown.  
“Why did you kiss him..?!”  
“Ah,” Andy made, his gaze dropping to the floor while he got up, nervously pacing the room, no longer able to sit still, “I didn’t tell you.”  
“You didn’t tell me what?”  
Andy stood still in front of a window, looking down on the park that he had walked through with Rafa a couple of days ago. When this mess had only just started and he hadn’t had a clue what he had gotten himself into.  
He exhaled a shaky breath.  
“I think I love him.”  
When Novak didn’t respond, Andy turned to face him, finding his friend staring at him with parted lips.  
“You… you…” Nole eventually stuttered but didn’t finish the sentence.  
“Yes. I’m in love with Rafa.”  
  
It felt strange to speak it out loud, even though he had already come to terms with it. And telling Kim had been different, he had always told her everything, there had never been any secrets between them. But now telling Novak about it made it feel way more real. And it made it very true, because Andy’s heart beat quickened immediately and he felt heat creeping up his back.  
He was in love with Rafael Nadal.  
With his kindness that made Andy’s heart swell with pride to call him a friend, with the way he cared so much, even about people and especially kids he had never met before. With how he could go from “I’ll murder y’all” on a tennis court to “cutest cinnamon roll in the entire world” right after the last point, when all tension would drop from his shoulders and he would start grinning from ear to ear.  
Andy was in love with Rafa’s accent, with his strength and willpower to always keep pushing, until the very next point, the next title, to maybe, one day, become the greatest of all time.  
With his dedication, with his giggles and his smiles, with his goddamn eyebrows and his bandanas, the softness in his gaze and the way Rafa used the heart eyes emoji way too often.  
Fuck.  
  
“Fuck,” Novak said, as if he had read Andy’s thoughts, sitting down on the edge of his king size bed, “didn’t think you’d get it this fast.”  
The Scot stared at his friend.  
“What?”  
Novak’s gaze met his.  
“It was too obvious, wasn’t it?”  
“Obvious?” Andy repeated in disbelief, feeling his fingers twitching.  
Novak simply nodded.  
“Well, it fucking wasn’t obvious to me, Nole,” he said through gritted teeth and the Serb tilted his head.  
His best friend rolled his eyes.  
“It’s Rafa, Andy. If I was gay, I’d definitely be in love with him. In fact, that guy makes you wonder…”  
Andy growled threateningly and Novak raised his hands in defence.  
“I’m kidding.”  
“You better are.”  
They stared at each other for a few seconds, until Andy’s shoulders fell down.  
“What am I supposed to do now? How can I apologize?”  
Novak was looking at him in a way that made it clear that he wasn’t looking at him at all, but was caught up in his thoughts.  
After a while, he said, “I’ll talk to Roger.”  
“To Roger? What the fuck is he supposed to do?”  
“Just let me do it, okay? I’ll tell you later.”  
“You… Fuck, Nole. I need advice, not some cryptic Swiss shit.”  
Novak rolled his eyes.  
“Just trust me with this, okay? For once?”

Andy had to be insane. Because when was it _ever_ good advice to trust Novak with something? But did he have another option? Not really.   
In that case, he felt like he could count on Novak. Or rather, he’d have to, as he didn’t have a better choice.   
“Roger and I have a day off tomorrow, we’ll think of something,” Andy made an attempt to interrupt the Serb but his raised eyebrow made him keep his mouth shut, “unlike you, who’s playing Fognini tomorrow and we all know that guy is dogged as fuck. You should give yourself some rest or your coach will kill you.”

When Andy had said goodbye to Novak and Jelena, he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings while making his way out of the hotel. Impatiently, he was waiting for the elevator to arrive, already considering to take the stairs, when the doors opened with a sibilant sound and he stepped aside, gaze on the floor while he was deep in his thoughts.   
“Ouch!” someone suddenly exclaimed and Andy’s eyes shot up, because no way in hell-…   
  
He found himself face to face with a certain Spaniard, whom he had bumped into, who was staring at him with wide eyes, frozen on his spot.   
Andy’s heart picked up speed while his stomach dropped.   
“Rafa,” he whispered, taking in the sight of the older man. He couldn’t deny that the Majorcan was looking miserable.   
_I have done that to him_.   
The Scot’s insides knotted up.   
  
And then he turned around and did exactly what Rafa had done not so long ago: he ran away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry that this chapter is so short. But we're coming closer to the end and I had to write it like that. 
> 
> In fact, when writing the elevator scene, I considered Rafa to just go for it and kiss Andy but that would have been a little too easy, wouldn't it? ;) 
> 
> Oh, and I HAD to write Nole into this because... has anyone seen his celebration dance video on twitter?  
> I'm not kidding you when I say that probably half of the views are by me, for I have been watching it basically all the time since Friday. 
> 
> Please leave kudos, if you haven't already done so :)  
> Johanna

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter, I'd mean a lot of you told me what you think about it in the comments.  
> Cheers!


End file.
